


20 Minutes Away

by fogsrollingin



Series: Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affectionate Dean Winchester, Comforting Dean Winchester, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Sam Winchester, Fugue, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Queerplatonic Sam and Dean, disorientation, gencest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin
Summary: My first entry for whumptober2020! Prompts filled are no 1. “waking up restrained” and no. 25 “disorientation,” the latter I wrote mostly like Sam’s disoriented/shocky and it’s playing havoc on his emotions.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947565
Comments: 21
Kudos: 126
Collections: Sam Winchester WHUMP, Whumptober 2020





	20 Minutes Away

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr.](https://fogsrollingin.tumblr.com/post/630776285822697472/title-20-minutes-away-author-fogsrollingin-story)
> 
> [Link to this story on ffnet.](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13716134/1/20-Minutes-Away)  
> 
> 
> 🍂🎃 Happy October!👻🧛🧟♀️
> 
> I am _very_ excited to kick things off with this fic. Happy readings (hopefully😅)!

Sam had been tied down to more terrifying platforms than beds with thin mattresses so _it was okay_ , he told himself. _I’m fine, Dean_ he thought even though Dean wasn’t there. Sam had no idea at what point in his life he’d started talking to Dean in his head. It came out most when he was stressed, when he was scared. He’d breathe and close his eyes and think _It’s okay, Dean. It’s not that bad._

He’d been undressed and redressed in starchy white fabric. Everything smelled like bleach. His t-shirt, pants, the white sheets he was stretched out on, the clean linoleum speckled floors, the light pastel green walls. He tried moving and felt restraints - soft, wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and flickers of genuine fear sparked in him. Why the fuck was he in a mental institution? Had he gone mad?

... _again_? Sam swallowed. His throat was dry.

“D-” he broke off into painful coughs. His throat was _sore_. Why was his throat sore? “Dean!” Sam spotted a man walk quickly past the doorway. “Hey wait, help!?”

His eyes watered as he watched the hallway. “Hello?! Please!?”

Without warning the man returned and came into the room and Sam realized it wasn’t a man. She was tall and strong with muscled arms and a powerful gait. Her chocolate brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her complexion was ruddy. Her eyes though, they were this soft, bright ochre reflecting nothing but concern. “Hey, buddy, how you doing?” Her voice was smooth and mature, implied a control of the situation that Sam latched onto.

“Not great,” Sam answered honestly. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is my brother here?”

“No, we don’t know your identity, so we can’t call your brother. Do you know where you are right now?”

“No, I can’t remember anything, how I got here or anything. But,” Sam swallowed and tried to get himself under control.

“Breathe. Take your time,” the woman soothed. She went to the bedside table to pull out a pad of paper and pen from the top drawer. She took a plastic white chair and set it down next to Sam’s bed. Sam watched her sit. She held the pen over the pad and looked up, expectant but relaxed; patient.

“I’m Sam Winchester. My brother’s Dean. His phone number is 555-304-4983.”

“And you want to confirm he’s your emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. And you want me to go call him right now?”

Sam didn’t know what it was about the question, something about just how desperate and how close he was to getting his brother. His sinuses stung and tears welled. He nodded.

“Yes, please,” he whispered.

The woman nodded. “Okay, Mr. Winchester. While I go do that I’ll let your doctor know you’re awake and she’ll be in to talk to you promptly, okay?”

Sam swallowed and licked his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

The woman gave him another kind smile and got up to leave.

“Hey wait, can you take these off?” Sam lifted his wrists up to show the restraints. Sam knew it was a long shot. One look at the woman and he knew he’d be denied but at least she was expressly apologetic about it.

“As soon as Doctor Garcia clears you, she’ll remove the restraints. I know exactly where she is too. She’ll be here really soon for you. I’ll get her.”

Sam nodded. He appreciated the way she was talking to him. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You bet.” She turned and left. Sam prayed she was true to her word, that she’d call his brother as soon as she got to a phone.

He blew out a long breath and tried to get his emotions under control but it was difficult. He had no idea where he was, why he was restrained, how far away Dean was or what he’d done before this; no memory of how he’d come to be here. Had he been possessed? Had they fought? Oh man, the very last thing Sam wanted right now was for Dean to get a call like this and be pissed at him.

As Sam thought about that more, a tear dripped down his cheek, then another as he took it out on the restraints, gripping the straps and pulling and pushing, the exertion and sensory pressure of it feeling good, helping him work the angst out of his system. He stretched his legs and feet out as far as the cuffs allowed, tensed his arms and rolled his shoulders, fought with the restraints until his heart beat as fast as it was breaking. The bed shook and rattled, the railing and industrial plastic of the structure making sounds like it was bending on the cusp of breaking and it was… satisfying. Sam kept going, the physicality grounding, the mild hope he’d break something coming alive in him. Eventually he tired though, but he’d successfully pulled himself out of his mind and into the here and now, to current problems and their practical solutions.

Limp and still tied down, he took deep breaths. He watched his chest go up and down, eventually evening out. Current problems and practical solutions. Right.

Sam would talk to the doctor and try to get out of this but really it was Dean. Dean was the only solution he had at the moment.

A movement at the doorway and Sam looked over to see who he presumed to be the doctor walking in. She had silky black hair cut at her shoulders, thin lips, and intelligent eyes.

“Sam Winchester?” Her voice was light and scratchy, her tone easy but curious.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hi, I’m Dr. Garcia. How’re you doing?” She asked, settling down on the same chair the attendant had pulled out. She leaned forward, eyes gently scanning him, assessing him. He took a deep breath.

“I don’t remember how I got here. Clearly I’m in a... psychiatric institution of some kind-”

“Red Cloud Recovery Center,” she supplied.

Sam squinted. “Red Cloud? That’s only like 20 minutes north,” he muttered to himself. The Doctor got up and Sam tensed, looking up at her nervously as she approached but then realized she was going to undo the restraints. She gave a casual smile as she did his ankles then came up to his wrists.

“20 minutes north of where?” She asked.

“Lebanon. Home. It’s where Dean and I live,” Sam replied. She frowned with approval, finishing off the wrists, and nodded as she sat back down. Sam sat himself up straighter against the headboard and rubbed his hands. The doctor wore a mild smile as she waited quietly for him to get comfortable and relax. 

“Okay,” he sighed. "What happened?”

The doctor sighed too and leaned back in her chair. Her next words were slow and calm. “You were in a disassociated fugue. You were found walking down 7th avenue without a jacket, in distress, your clothes soiled. That’s why we changed you. You were disoriented, agitated. We tried to calm you down but you were scratching yourself, pulling your hair. That’s why the restraints,” she gestured. She put her hands back in her lap and waited.

“Okay,” Sam’s breath hitched, “um.” He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “Is... is my brother coming?” He asked, voice shaky and weak. He looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushed his other hand through his hair. His scalp was sore, sensitive.

“You want me to go check with Isabelle? She’s the ward assistant you met earlier. I-”

Sam cut off whatever she was about to say next, already too unnerved for more information coming at him just yet. “Yeah, could you? I... I’d like to, yeah,” he stumbled over his words. Normally more articulate, but he was having trouble processing what’d happened.

“Uh huh, I’ll be right back, Sam.” 

The doctor took her leave and Sam stared out into the hall after her. He shivered, kind of shocky, and pulled the blankets up, folded his arms over his chest. He wanted to get out, this urgent voice in the back of his mind screaming at him that it was time to escape. But there were too many unanswered questions, Dean was probably coming, and by the lack of storage space in his room Sam bet his possessions were in the nurse’s station. There was a small rectangular window at the top of his room that indicated it was night too, and Sam didn’t much feel like freezing in the winter night if he did succeed in escaping. Plus, so far neither the assistant nor the doctor seemed interested in putting up barriers. They had been amenable to his wishes and forthcoming about what’d led him to them. The relaxed kindness was almost nostalgic, the kind of treatment he only remembered getting from some school nurses back when he was a child and not a hulking 6′4 man that so many people perceived as threatening.

He mustered up hope that Isabella and Dr. Garcia would keep going like they had.

Isabella’s towering form entered the room then, smiling and carrying a few clear plastic bags with several items inside. “Got your stuff,” she announced, setting the bags on Sam’s legs.

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” Sam rasped, surprised again and sitting up further to cross his legs so he could go through them. Isabella quickly stepped back so she wasn’t casting a shadow over him and sat down in the chair. She still held onto one bag and he peered at it curiously then up at her.

She shook it a little. “For your laundry when you get home.”

Sam’s eyes widened guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “I talked to your brother. He’s on his way now.”

Sam would’ve thought he’d be relieved at the news but instead his jaw clenched, his breath stalled. He swallowed. “Did he sound... how did he sound?”

“Worried, relieved, anxious to see you.” 

Sam nodded and wiped a tear away. “Sorry,” he sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with me. Everything’s making me emotional.”

Isabella nodded. “It’s okay. You’re allowed,” she said simply, unblinking eyes meeting his, those irises a warm and honest golden brown. Sam looked away first, tried to swallow the lump in his throat, ease the twinge in his nose and the tears in his eyes.

A commotion erupted outside, some banging, several voices shouting “sir!” and then Dean’s distinctive authoritative voice shouting something Sam couldn’t make out but altogether it suffused tendrils of sheer relief through him, a wave of reassurance that had him smiling at Isabella, a watery blur though she was.

“I’ll go get him,” she said and she was fast getting up and out of the room, her movement smooth and economical.

Dr. Garcia popped up from the other side of the hallway carrying a chair, looked past the room for a moment and nodded, pointed towards Sam - communicating with others beyond Sam’s room - and proceeded inside. She walked in and added the new chair, placing it next to the empty one and sitting down, her eyes lit upon the possession bags on his bedspread. “Ah, I see you’ve got your things.”

Sam nodded distractedly, looking past her shoulder for Isabella and Dean. “Are they coming?”

“Yep,” Dr. Garcia answered quickly, and turned around to wait with Sam too. After a few moments, Sam recognized his brother’s heavy footfalls coming down the hallway. He pressed his lips together to stop from calling out. He put a hand to his forehead, feeling a little dizzy now, the apprehension messing with him.

Dr. Garcia stood just as Dean appeared, Isabella trailing behind. Dean paused just a moment to take Sam in and Sam did the same. Sam was sure his older brother had just woken up; he was pale and disheveled, he wore a pair of wrinkled jeans and shirt he’d probably just thrown on before booking it to the car after that phone call.

His eyes were wide, expression open and concerned but not so much that it’d turned to fury. Sam couldn’t say how thankful Dean didn’t look mad; too often Dean’s worry transformed to anger and Sam wasn’t in a place he could handle it right now. Instead, Dean swooped in with elegant strides and a soft voice. “Sammy.” He sat on the bed, up close, next to Sam’s hip.

“I’m okay,” Sam choked out, glancing over Dean’s shoulder and growing embarrassed as the doctor and Isabella watched Dean rub a hand up Sam’s arm to his shoulder, carded warm fingers through his hair. Despite their audience, Sam wasn’t going to resist Dean’s ministrations . He looked down to try to save face though.

“I’m okay, you don’t need to-” but Sam stopped talking because his voice kept breaking as he spoke. He hated it and made a fist, punched the mattress next to him as he swore.

“I know. I know, man,” Dean murmured but he didn’t pull away. He just kept petting Sam’s hair and rubbing his shoulder, squeezing his neck. Sam stared at the white, sterile bedsheet and when Dean scooted up closer next to him, reached lower and began stroking his back, Sam gasped a cry and leaned in, put his hand out for his brother and Dean was there instantly, in his space so Sam could curl around him, feel Dean’s arms wrap around his back and hold him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay.”

Sam sniffed and looked up for a second to find the doctor and Isabella had left. He was grateful for the privacy and shifted up closer against his brother, got a better grip around Dean’s back. He’d been saying he was fine before but warm against Dean, his big brother’s palm stroking his hair, soft words and “Sammy” and “I got ya,” there was no question or doubt at all in Sam’s mind. Everything was okay; everything would be okay.

_**Fin** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment or kudos or reblog what-have-you if you enjoyed it 💛🤗


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